The Floodgate (38 page)

The elf grimaced. “It could have done even better. I had hoped this battle would discredit Zalathorm more thoroughly. It might have, had you not intervened on his behalf, but most Halruaans will believe that the king summoned the water elemental as well as the fire roc. The necromancers in his court will be quick to take credit for the skeletal army. It will be difficult to displace so powerful a hero.”

“You fail to see the salient point.”

“Indeed, I do! I intended to weaken Zalathorm, giving ambitious wizards enough hope of replacing him to set them upon each other! I planned to light a spark that would blaze into another wizardwar!”

“So you have. Think, little elf, and tell me the most important point.”

After a moment, Kiva nodded slowly. “Despite what anyone else might think, Zalathorm knows he did not cast that spell.”

“Well done. Knowing Zalathorm as you and I do, what do you suppose he will do next?”

The elf’s eyes caught flame. “He will not rest until he knows who did cast it. Once he knows, he will come after you!”

Akhlaur gazed out over the carnage. “This was a most diverting entertainment, little elf, but I think you and I can arrange a better one.”

The celebration began the day after the battle. Music filled the city, and proud displays of magic took place on every corner. When night fell, fireworks exploded overhead, many of them forming into the silhouette of a giant bird. The image of the fiery roc was everywhere-embroidered on banners, tattooed on the arms of warriors, in beds of flame-colored flowers that appeared overnight. Zalathorm was a hero, and the firebird the proud new symbol of the wizard-king’s might.

Yet whispers against the king swept quietly through the land, along with word of the queen’s arrest and coming trial. Many had died fighting her clockwork creatures. Questions passed from mouth to mouth about how the king could have overlooked this danger in his very palace. For that matter, people then asked, how could the king fail to foresee the Mulhorandi invaders?

Despite these doubts, all Halarahh gathered that night in the vast public square to honor their heroes. High among them stood Procopio Septus, who had sent the Crinti into retreat, and beat back the cloud avatars of the Mulhorandi. This was not a Halruaan spell, and the people of Halarahh were pleased and proud that their lord mayor was vigilant enough to learn the magic of their enemies.

When it was Procopio’s turn to come before the king, Zalathorm enumerated the wizard’s accomplishments and asked what reward he desired. Procopio spoke clearly, his voice soaring through the enhancement spells that carried the ceremony throughout the city. “I ask only that I might continue to serve the land as a master of divination, my king, as you yourself have done these many long years.”

The people erupted into cheers and huzzahs. Farther down the line of battle heroes, Basel Indoulur observed this with a faint, guarded smile, and Matteo with a face carefully schooled to reveal nothing. On the surface of things, the lord mayor’s request was admirably humble, but the challenge was not deeply buried.

“So the seed is planted,” Basel murmured. “Did you by chance mark the seeming familiarity between Procopio’s storm elemental and his windy opponent?”

“It occurred to me that they were acquainted,” Matteo responded. “In general, Lord Procopio was exceedingly well prepared. He studied the battle tactics of the Crinti, and he has an astonishing grasp of Mulhorandi magic.”

“Yes, I noticed that as well,” Basel said. “He bears watching. Halruaa borders have been secured, but I suspect that Halruaa has more to fear from her own wizards.”

The applause for Procopio finally died, and the king’s herald called the next name. When Basel’s turn came, he inclined his head toward Matteo. “You see my request before you, sire. I petition for the jordain’s service.”

King Zalathorm’s gaze shifted from the wizard to Matteo and then back. “I am afraid I cannot grant that request, old friend. But I will found a school for conjuration in your home city, as you have long requested.”

Matteo’s throat tightened. Did the king truly value straight and honest speech, or did he have in mind some sort of reprisal for Matteo’s part against the queen’s arrest?

The king regarded Matteo somberly. “And you, jordain. Will you enter my service, as reward for your part in this battle?”

“It is not quite the punishment I expected, sire,” he said softly, speaking below the reach of the enhancement spells, “but neither is it my idea of a reward.”

Zalathorm’s lips twitched in an ironic little smile. “Well, then, you understand the task ahead far better than most.” Lifting his voice, he proclaimed, “So shall it be. The jordain Matteo shall be known as the king’s counselor.”

He gestured to the herald, signaling the next interview. Matteo and Basel bowed and walked from the dais.

The conjurer sent Matteo a rueful smile. “The king will have need of good counsel in the days to come. I expect you will be quite busy.”

“What of you, my lord?”

Basel took a deep breath and let it out on a sigh. “I will study the lore of the Unseelie folk. If there is a way to bring Tzigone out of that place, I will find it.”

A small flicker of hope flared in Matteo’s heart. “You will call me if I can do anything to help?”

“You will be the first to know. Expect to hear from me soon, for there are things between us that must be said. Mystra’s blessing upon you, my son.”

This address was often used between a man of Basel’s years and one of Matteo’s. Perhaps it meant nothing. Perhaps everything. It was one more thing that a jordain could not know.

“Mystra’s blessing,” he echoed softly.

After the festivities were over, Matteo went to his new chambers in the king’s quarter. To his surprise, Zalathorm awaited him, sprawled wearily in one of the chairs that Cassia, Matteo’s predecessor, had scattered cozily about the room.

“I have need of your counsel, jordain,” the king said, his voice faint and scratchy from overuse.

Matteo nodded, waiting for him to continue.

“Before we discuss this matter, a question. Near battle’s end, before the skeletons arose, you were about to give me advice that you thought I would not like to hear.”

“There is no need for it now,” Matteo said, frowning. “For that matter, there was no need for it then! You saw what was needed and took action without waiting for my counsel. It is grim work to raise skeleton warriors, and all Halruaa is grateful that you took this task upon yourself.”

“Did you observe me cast that spell?”

The jordain hesitated. “No, but none of your necromancers have come forth to take credit for it, so I assume it was a prepared spell, unleashed from some magical device.”

Zalathorm did not offer comment on this observation. “This celebration will last a tenday. After that, the queen will come to trial. If she is condemned, she will be executed under the light of a gibbous moon. You have twenty days to prove her innocence.”

With great difficulty, Matteo kept his face impassive. “Forgive me my presumption, sire, but I know what it is to lose a loved one. The two best friends I ever knew are lost to me, and I cannot yet accept the reality of it.”

“What would you do to save those friends?”

Matteo envisioned the veil between the worlds, and the glowing eyes of the dark fairies beyond. “If I could, I would follow them through hell.”

“I thought as much. That is why I give you a seemingly impossible task.”

He blew out a long breath. “We heard Kiva commend the queen for creating a clockwork army. What could negate this?”

“There are other circumstances, surely, that will sway the council’s decision.”

“I will not color the facts to save the queen,” Matteo said quietly.

The king nodded as if he had expected this. “You hold the good of Halruaa foremost in your heart. That is why I require your services. Nonetheless, keep in mind that even an honest man can convince himself of a dubious truth, and the most zealous of paladins may learn to his horror that his holy end does not justify his every bloody mean.”

“I will remember this, sire. In all candor, however, I do not understand your point.”

Zalathorm rose and looked deep into the young jordain’s eyes. “I have learned many things since the battle’s end. I cannot yet tell you how this knowledge came to me. This much I can say: Queen Beatrix was once known as Keturah, the woman your friend Tzigone sought so desperately. No one alive knows this but me, not even the queen herself. So tell me now, jordain, what will you do now?”

The ground shifted under Matteo’s feet, and his head hummed like a swarm of captive bees. He swallowed hard. “The same, sire.”

“And if I tell you that Keturah could open that door for you, so that you could march into hell after your friend? Would you be tempted to save them both at any cost, or would you cling to truth even then?”

“Even then,” he said in an anguished whisper.

The king nodded slowly. “Well, perhaps you have a chance at success. You have twenty days.”

Zalathorm turned and strode swiftly away, no longer able to meet the young man’s burning eyes. He understood all too well the pain written there.

Keturah’s daughter. He closed his eyes and brought to mind the image of the girl with the shorn brown locks and impish grin whom he had seen at Basel Indoulur’s side. It was she who had brought the magic mouth device into the queen’s workroom, thus getting the evidence that would condemn her own mother for treason. Would she have done this, had she known? Or would she cling to principle as firmly as did Matteo?

With a sigh, Zalathorm made his way down a hidden stairwell into the deepest and most secret part of the palace. As he walked, he cast a powerful magical disguise over himself. He never approached this hidden chamber without this disguise, though it had been many years since he’d worn this face outside the palace. The lines of necromancers who stood like sentries outside the door knew him only by his assumed face and nodded to him as he passed.

Zalathorm shut and warded the door, then turned to the enormous gem that floated precisely in the center of the room. It was vaguely star-shaped, redder than garnet, with hundreds of smooth, glittering sides. Light pulsed within its heart.

The king bowed his head before the sentient gem, more in apology than supplication, and whispered, “The Heart of Halruaa seeks your counsel.”